


Silent Songs

by Plutor



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux, Phantom of the Opera (2004), Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: But still plenty of fluff, Charlotte is a badass I promise, Deaf Character, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Mystery, Not realllly a romance story, Phantom of the Opera - Freeform, poto
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2020-03-29 15:03:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19022338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Plutor/pseuds/Plutor
Summary: Deafened in a childhood illness, Charlotte de Chagny longs to hear the music she remembers from her past. When Raoul purchases the Opera Populaire she is content enough to watch the performances, but talks of the elusive 'Opera Ghost' entice her more than the silent songs onstage. It's not long before she realizes there is more to the stories and goes looking for answers of her own.





	1. The Opera Populaire

Paris, 1870

As the carriage bounced its way along the craggy, cobbled streets of Paris, Charlotte de Chagny leaned her forehead against the window pane that separated her from the bustling of the city, stomach twisting with a bundle of excitement and nerves. Her breath fogged the glass despite the warm weather, smudging the bright colors of dresses and storefronts. "There are so many people!" Charlotte exclaimed in a hushed voice, knowing her words would come out slightly slurred, but too reluctant to turn away from the window. Across from her, Raoul nodded. He did not share in her childish wonderment, but then again, her brother was accustomed to travel and city splendor. He had not spent his whole life shut up in their family's manor as she had.

Charlotte supposed she should feel some deal of embarrassment acting like a hyper puppy, but her spirits were too high. Besides, Raoul had a little smile stretched across his handsome features- he was pleased. The acquisition of the Opera Populaire was his birthday gift to her. A way to give her back the music of her childhood, perhaps. Never mind that Charlotte had given up the thought of that long ago; the sweet chords of piano, the high notes of a soprano voice, even the soft sounds of lullabies fell silent on deaf ears such as hers. "You'll like the ballet, anyhow." Raoul had told her. And she was looking forward to the ballet, but she loved the freedom from the manor even more. Paris seemed to her a fantastical new world full of previously forbidden delights and the opera house was a good a destination as any.

She managed to fully tear her gaze from the window, twisting in her seat to look at her brother. They had been traveling for many hours but he did not seem bored or tired. A book rested open on his knee, and one hand lazily turned the pages as they rode. Charlotte, too, was a voracious reader but her own novel had been tossed aside the minute they entered the city proper. Why read about Paris when she could see it with her own eyes? She waved to get Raoul's attention again and quickly signed, 'how long until we arrive?'

Raoul quirked another smile. 'Soon. Are you hungry? We can stop for dinner.'

"Yes!" Charlotte blurted out. Raoul might not be bothered by the journey but she was absolutely famished. They'd had breakfast at the manor, but that was hours ago and Charlotte had been so nervous that she had barely eaten a thing anyways. There was a basket full of fruits on the seat beside her brother, but they went sour with the heat. Raoul carefully folded his book, set it on top of the basket, and tapped on the wall behind him causing the carriage to shudder to a halt.

'There is a nice cafe only a few minutes walk from here. I'll tell the valet.' He gestured. Charlotte waved him on and he hopped out, exchanged a few words with the coachman, then came back to help her down. Charlotte's boots hit the cobblestone and she inhaled the muggy afternoon air, thinking it far sweeter than what they had been shut up with in the carriage. The streets were full of bustling shoppers, merchants, and beggar children reaching for the hems of ladies satin skirts. It should have been an assault on her senses, having grown up in the quiet country, but without sound the scene did not bother her much. It did smell different though, so many new scents mixing together that she could barely distinguish them. The acrid smoke from a gentleman's pipe, fresh bread from the next door bakery, and there, just the tiniest whiff of peachy perfume. A new sensation for sure, but not unwelcome.

Raoul led her away from the main street and further into the maze, strutting straight-backed and proud as if he owned the very ground he walked upon. Or, if not owned, at least was completely familiar with. Wherever Raoul was taking her, he had been there many times before. The street sloped upwards and the pair stopped at a small hovel, tucked in between two taller shops. The walls were painted a peeling white, flowers sat bunched in small window-beds, and an awning protruded from the roof, providing ample shade.

'This is the Boulevard Montmartre.' Raoul told her, 'It's but a ten minute ride from the opera house.' The cafe he chose was packed with people. It was clearly very popular despite its appearance. Charlotte managed to claim an empty table while her brother went up to the counter and ordered them some pastries and coffee. To her relief, no one seemed to notice her, or think her out of place. At home, everyone knew her. Here, no one did. Charlotte was dressed slightly below her position as the late viscount's daughter, but traveling in elaborate dress quickly became uncomfortable so she had opted for a simple blue gown that morning, the color complimenting nicely with her eyes. Raoul too, wore only a casual suit and brown overcoat. He procured the sweets with no problems and pushed his way through the crowd towards her.

"Welcome to Paris, little sister." Raoul grinned, placing a coffee down on the table in front of her. It was warm for the drink, but it was sweet and renewed her waning energy. The croissants, too, were light and airy, stuffed to bursting with chocolate filling. With both hands busy, the meal was shared silently but enjoyably. When she was done, Charlotte resisted the urge to lick the chocolate off her hands; an unladylike behavior, but one she indulged in alone at home.

The trip back to the carriage was short and thankfully downhill this time. The siblings climbed in and the driver took off, making quick work of the last leg of their journey. The opera house soon filled the window, strong stone pillars and perching angels betraying the identity of the alluring building. Charlotte had never seen photographs, but she'd heard Raoul's stories of the place, stories of grandeur and beauty. This place certainly had both. A large sign hung to the left of the doors advertising 'La Carlotta!' the prima donna- a lady trussed up in exotic skirts. This time the valet helped them both to the ground, collected their bags, and ushered them towards the doors. Raoul held his arm out for her and Charlotte grabbed it gratefully. There really were a lot a people.

The second they stepped through the entrance two older men appeared. Both gave Raoul a small bow. "Vicomte, welcome." The one with curlier hair greeted. His lips were easy enough to read as long as Charlotte payed attention. "I am Monsieur Gilles Andre, and this is my associate, Monsieur Richard Firmin." Raoul shook both their hands and turned to introduce Charlotte. The men bowed even deeper to her and took turns kissing the back of her hand.

'Lovely to meet you, monsieurs'. She signed. Despite her brother's gentle encouragements, she refused to speak in front of anybody but him, hating the thought of how her voice must sound to others.

Raoul translated and added, "My sister is deaf, but if you speak clearly she can read your lips." Charlotte flushed as she always did when someone discovered her disability, but the new managers were very kind, nodding their understanding. Monsieur Firmin offered her his arm and she took it, leaving Raoul to chat with the more talkative Andre.

They were led again through a hall that opened to a grand stage, populated already by dancers and singers in a state of rehearsal. Charlotte could not hear the music they twirled to, but she could feel the rhythm of the dance thump in her breast. Charlotte had danced when she was young, but had given it up several years ago, around the time of her father's death. She felt a pang of regret as she watched the ballet now. Raoul had been right. They were captivating.

Another man was waiting for the group and once he saw them enter, he called a halt to the rehearsal. He began to speak, but his head was turned at such an angle that Charlotte could not make out what it was he said. She nudged Raoul in the arm who, noticing her predicament, began to sign for her. The man was Monsieur Lefevre, the old owner of the Opera Populaire. He was retiring and handing the title over to Firmin and Andre, with the de Chagny's as their patrons. Raoul was introduced and with a polite nod to the crowd he added, "My sister and I are honored to support all the arts, especially the world-renowned Opera Populaire."

His declaration was met with applause. Charlotte watched as a tall, pale woman in a beautiful golden crown came up to her brother, offering him her hand. Bemused, he leaned to kiss it while Lefevre introduced her as Signora Carlotta Guidicelli, the very same woman advertised on the posters outside the opera. She was the leading soprano. Charlotte felt poorly that she would never hear her sing, but there was no helping it.

There were several more introductions after that, but Charlotte had a difficult time keeping up with the quick pace and she eventually gave up, choosing to look around instead. The interior of the opera was swatched in red; red chairs, red curtains, and red costumes. It had a lush, private feel despite the crowd. It was the type of place that could swallow a thousand people and still be comfortable, the type of place that drew you in further and further. Charlotte loved it at once.

The ballet girls were once again taking up position, showing off for the Populaire's new owners. Raoul finished shaking (and kissing) hands and trotted over to her side. 'Shall I show you our hotel?'

Charlotte nodded, but her gaze remained fixed on the dancers.

'Don't worry, little sister, we will return to see the show and have supper with Firmin and Andre.' Raoul laughed. "Now, let's go unpack." They moved to exit the stage when all of a sudden the very ground beneath them seemed to shudder. Charlotte whipped her head around to stare at La Carlotta who was now lying on her belly, massive skirts trapped by a fallen set beam. She was thrashing about like a fish out of water, banging her palms on the ground, mouth open in a scream. The directors along with the actors and Raoul all rushed to help her, lifting the beam out of the way carefully.

Lefevre turned his head up and appeared to speak to someone on the rafters but whatever the explanation was for the accident left him even more agitated.

'The stagehand blames it on ghosts.' Raoul signed to her with a little shrug.

'Ghosts??'

'Apparently the Opera House is haunted.' The statement was accompanied by a wink. Raoul raised his hands and wiggled his fingers. "Ooooo."

Charlotte shook her head, a smile blooming on her lips. Ghosts were not real, but the mystery they provided was exciting. A haunted opera house? Raoul's gift was getting better by the minute. He sidled up to her and tugged on her braid. 'Anyways, I do believe that's our cue. Come, let us get out of the way.'

\-----------------------

This is my first phanfic, I hope you are enjoying so far!

Disclaimer: I am not deaf so if there are any problems or inaccuracies with the way I write Charlotte please let me know!  
-Pluto


	2. Christine Daae

The opera house was a changed venue when Charlotte and Raoul returned. The plush seats were completely filled up by upper-class ladies and gentleman who lifted their opera glasses and chatted softly amongst themselves. The heavy velvet curtain was drawn across the stage, and candles burned in a semicircle along the edge of the wood.

Box one was reserved for the de Chagny's and Charlotte took a seat carefully, trying not to crease her dress. For the performance, she had donned a more elaborate number, green this time with stitched in jewels. Her hair was released from its braid and fell slightly past her shoulders in gentle waves. Raoul, too, was striking in his suit jacket. The two of them could have passed for twins; they shared the same boyish figure, straight blonde hair, and glassy blue eyes. Raoul was only older by less than a year, but he shouldered the mantle of 'big brother' with the utmost responsibility. "Look, it's starting!"

The curtain was indeed parting, giving the audience a glimpse of the elaborate set it concealed. There was most likely music playing as well but Charlotte could not hear it, so she kept her eyes trained on the dancers, barely noticing that the woman who entered as prima donna was not La Carlotta at all. Raoul, however, stared at the singer with a strange expression on his face.

By the time the aria began, Charlotte found that she was genuinely enjoying herself. The crowd loved the performance, their shocked faces and silent bated breath proved it, so Charlotte knew the singer must be dazzling. The music did not reach her ears, but that didn't seem to matter much. It was strange to be part of something larger than herself, but here in the opera house, she felt at home among the thousands of others.

Halfway through the aria, Raoul shot up from his seat as if possessed and mouthed, "Can it be Christine?" Charlotte barely had time to wonder what he meant before he leaned out over the edge of the banister and shouted, "Bravo!" He did not stop to offer any explanation as he spun suddenly and ran out of the box, leaving Charlotte alone as the opera swelled to a close.

The singer received a standing ovation. Flowers were tossed on stage as she bowed and made a quick exit, white train trailing on the ground. Then all was tossed into chaos as the crowd swarmed from their seats, chasing after the new prima donna in a frenzy. Charlotte watched safely from her box and wished Raoul would come back. There was no way she would find him in this mess. Nor did she want to attempt it. Charlotte did not mind crowds from a distance, but pushing into the throng would make her nervous.

And what did he mean by Christine? Did he know the singer? Something about the name was vaguely familiar but Charlotte could not place it. Without the sound of the singer's voice to help spark whatever memory Raoul had uncovered, she was lost. Sighing, she rested her elbows on the banister and plopped her chin in her palms. If her brother did not come back she would have to go find monsieurs Andre and Firmin herself. They were scheduled for supper at some exquisite French restaurant. She spared a glance towards the proprietors' box but it was empty of course- they would have gone down to congratulate the prima donna as well.

Charlotte waited until most of the crowd was gone before choosing to make her way down, watching her step as to avoid the roses scattered about the floor. Following the stream of people, she passed through an elaborate hallway where a twinkle of white caught her eye. An older lady lead the beautiful singer of the aria into a smaller room while gentlemen reached for her skirts, thrusting out bouquets. The singer was shy and she ducked her head, waving off the attention with a blush on her pale cheeks. With relief, Charlotte spotted Raoul among the suitors as he elbowed his way to the front. He grabbed a bouquet from monsieurs Andre and Firmin and followed 'Christine' into the dressing room. He must know her, although she could not think of how.

Choosing to hang back instead of following, Charlotte turned around and began to walk back towards the grand staircase, giving her brother whatever time he needed to talk to the singer. By this time, most of the crowd had been ushered out the doors, leaving only the cast and crew to clean up. Charlotte stayed out of their way, exploring the rooms she came across as she wandered. The opera house seemed much larger on the inside and she discovered costume rooms, dormitories, and a small church that still had a single candle burning. Charlotte was not sure she believed in angels, but she bent her head and mumbled a little prayer for her deceased family members anyways, blowing out the candle when she was done.

After that, she made her way back to the prima donna room just in time to see Raoul exit. He met her eyes and ran up, rocking on his heels like an excited schoolboy. 'Guess what, Charlotte, it is Christine! Christine Daae! Surely you remember her?'

'The girl with the violin?' Charlotte signed slowly, the name Daae bringing her back to fuzzy childhood memories and days by the sea.

'It was her father's violin, but yes. I can't believe she's here- I invited her to dinner.' He was grinning and Charlotte felt a spark of pleasure herself. Although Christine was just a hazy memory, the time Daae and her father had spent with the de Chagny's were the best years of Charlotte's life. Back then she could still hear the music.

'It is wonderful you found her again.' Charlotte told Raoul, 'But where is her father?'

'Dead. They left when he became ill, remember?'

Charlotte didn't, but she nodded anyway. 'How sad. I recall that his music was beautiful.'

"Yes, it was." Said Raoul, wistfully, "Now we must go fetch the carriage." He took her arm and all but dragged her outside. It was much cooler at night, chilly even, and a sharp contrast to the heat of the day. Raoul flagged their carriage, helped her into it and swept back into the opera house to collect Christine.

Charlotte wondered if her brother forgot about their supper plans with Firmin and Andre, or if he still intended to bring them along as well. Probably not. Raoul seemed fixated with Christine, she doubted he'd want anyone to interrupt their conversation. She hoped he'd still translate for her, though.

Minutes went by and when Raoul returned, he was alone, no childhood friend turned prima donna in sight. 'Where is she?' Charlotte wondered.

'The door was locked. I suppose she wanted to be alone after all.' Raoul wore his emotions plain on his face and Charlotte could tell he was crestfallen.

'Well, she's had a very exhausting night, I'm sure she is quite tired. You can invite her out again tomorrow.' She attempted to placate her brother. If this Christine was anything like the little girl from their past, Charlotte doubted that she was trying to refuse Raoul on purpose. Besides, the de Chagny's owned the opera house now- it wasn't like Raoul would never see the singer again. In fact, now that her brother knew his childhood friend lived and worked at the Opera Populaire, Charlotte figured they would be visiting with a much higher frequency. 'Nevertheless, I was promised a delicious supper.'

Raoul gave her a small smile, nodding his head thoughtfully. 'Yes, I suppose you're right, Lottie.' Casting one last wistful glance at the Opera Populaire, Raoul planted his foot on the small wooden step and hoisted himself into the carriage.

-

Dinner was, as promised, exquisite. Monsieur's Andre and Firmin met them there a few minutes after Charlotte and Raoul were seated, looking only a bit put out that they had been left behind. Raoul offered his thorough apologies, explaining the circumstances, and the three men started up a conversation about the night's performance leaving Charlotte to peruse the menu, content to tune them out. This restaurant was a few grades above the small cafe she and Raoul had stopped at earlier in the day and her stomach growled as she contemplated what to order. Eventually, she settled on a rabbit in wine sauce, pointed it out to her brother, and let him order when the server came around.

Drinks came first, a bubbly champagne that was accompanied by sweet rolls and butter. Charlotte's meals at home were cooked by a servant and did not usually include a wide variety of dishes, so the many courses that were served that night brought her much delight. She was soon full to bursting! Once she admitted defeat and pushed her plate away, Raoul snatched up the last few bites of her rabbit dish, shoving them into his mouth with a lack of grace that made Charlotte giggle softly.

The conversation shifted towards politics and current events- two topics that Charlotte cared very little about. Raoul was absentmindedly translating for her, his right hand cradling a fork full of flourless cake, his left a blur of simple shorthand that the siblings had created. She watched him lazily, head beginning to tilt forward as she realized that she was basically falling asleep where she sat. It had been a very long day after all, and by now it was surely past midnight. However, before her face came anywhere close to falling in her desert, Monsieur Firmin indicated that he was exhausted as well and that his wife would be waiting up for him at home.

The three men haggled over who would pay the waiter, but Raoul managed to slip his francs into the server's hand first. With a promise that Monsieur Andre would treat them tomorrow, the little group parted ways, bellies full and spirits high.

In the carriage, Charlotte leaned into her brother and managed to nod off despite the short length of the trip back to the hotel. Raoul nudged her awake when they arrived, gently guiding her upstairs and into her room. They'd rented the suite on the top floor, a sprawling apartment that was lavishly furnished with modern furniture and amenities. After changing into a nightgown, Charlotte collapsed on her bed, relishing the feel of the soft blankets beneath her. However, before she could truly get well and comfortable, Raoul brought in a small candle, lit it, and set it on her dresser.

"To keep the nightmares at bay." He told her.

'I'm too old for nightmares, Raoul. I'm not a child.' Charlotte signed, rolling her eyes.

'I suppose not,' He agreed. 'However, as it is your first night away from home, I thought it my duty to provide you with a small amount of comfort, to keep away the ghosts.'

It was a sweet gesture, a bit misplaced as Charlotte was decidedly not afraid of ghosts, but sweet nonetheless. 'If the dresser goes up in flames during the night, it will be your fault.' She laughed at the sudden concerned expression that lit up Raoul's face. 'I'm only joking.'

"Yes, of course." He fidgeted with the candle once more, making sure it was truly safe, and satisfied, he turned to bid her goodnight. Before he could slip out the door Charlotte called after him in a soft voice, knowing he wouldn't be able to see her sign with his back turned.

"Raoul, do you really think the Opera house is haunted? That there really could be a ghost there?"

"Someone has been filling your head with stories, Lottie. The opera ghost is but a myth to frighten the dancers at night."

"But what if the ghost is real?" Charlotte insisted, the words seeming a bit ridiculous even to her. "The stories had to stem from somewhere after all!"

Raoul leaned against the doorframe and fixed her with a strange look. "I don't know... but with your curious nature, I'm sure you will be the one to discover the truth in the end. Sweet dreams, Charlotte."

"Goodnight, Raoul."


	3. Signed O.G.

When they arrived at the opera house the next day, the manager's were in a tizzy for Christine Daae had gone missing overnight. Raoul too was up in arms, having received a letter per the concierge at the hotel, detailing that he should refrain from contacting Christine ever again. Charlotte had snatched the paper from her brother's hand as soon as he read it, noting the scrawling red strokes of ink. The letter looked as if it had been written by a child and the penmanship left something to be desired, but Charlotte could make out most of the words.

'Who is 'the Angel of Music'?' She puzzled, running her finger over the title.

"Heaven knows!" Raoul seethed, "If this is Andre and Firmin's doing we are going to share some very strong words."

Charlotte frowned, folding the letter and handing it back to Raoul. 'I doubt it was them, Raoul. Why would they want to keep you from Christine?'

'I haven't any idea.' He admitted, putting in the request for their carriage. 'But this is one mystery I am not content to leave unsolved!'

'We will figure it out.' Charlotte promised, squeezing her brother's hand. 'Everything will be fine.'

But it turned out, Charlotte had told Raoul a blatant lie, for as soon as they marched into the opera house, the managers admitted both that they hadn't sent the note (they had actually received some themselves!) and that Christine Daae had vanished from her dressing room without a trace.

"If she's not with you, than who took her!?" In his anger and desperation, Raoul crumpled the note in a clenched fist and flung it aside, violently. Charlotte scampered after it, figuring that if a trip to the authorities was warranted, they should keep all evidence of the misdeed. The little letter found a safe home tucked into her dress, and she turned her attentions to the notes both managers held, wondering what they said. From the bloody red ink staining the edges of the parchment, Charlotte figured all three were sent from the same mysterious source. 'O.G.' She recalled the signature at the very bottom of Raoul's letter. What could it stand for? 

Before she or Raoul could inquire further, the doors slammed open and in stormed La Carlotta Guidicelli and her retainer, face twisted in an uncomfortable looking scowl. She spoke much too fast for Charlotte to make anything out, but the way she dramatically waved around a piece of parchment got the message across. La Carlotta had received a letter as well. About what, Charlotte could only speculate. Perhaps it was an admonishment about refusing to sing in Hannibal, or it could be something entirely different. It mattered little to her. The mystery behind it all was much more exciting; strange letters, a missing girl, an Angel of Music? The events seemed to have been pulled right out of a novel! Charlotte was sorry it was Christine Daae who was missing, for her loss had thoroughly rattled the vicomte, but that made her all the more determined to figure it all out and find the beautiful singer. 

Before anyone could do anything else about the situation, the same woman who had escorted Christine last night, Madame Giry, if Charlotte remembered the name correctly, walked up and announced, "Miss Daae has returned."

"No worse for wear, I hope!" Monsieur Firmin exclaimed, clutching his note to his chest.

"Where is she now?" Andre added.

"I thought it best she was alone." Said Madame Giry, a peculiar expression on her face. Behind her stood a little ballet dancer with pleated blonde hair. She looked up at Madame Giry before adding a bit sheepishly, "Christine needs her rest."

Raoul, who could no longer contain his tongue, pleaded, "Well, where was she? Did someone take her?"

"No, no, Monsieur," Madame Giry said, shaking her head. "Christine is fine."

"You're wrong, maman, it was the Opera Ghost! He took Christine!"

"Hush child!" Madame Giry scolded, turning to give her daughter a sharp glance. "There are no such thing as ghosts and it will do no good to go around spreading rumors." Cheeks flushing pink, the girl gave a clumsy curtsy and padded away. Opera Ghost... O.G.! Charlotte watched the dancer until she disappeared behind a corner. Had the girl seen this opera ghost? Charlotte looked up at her brother who was still arguing with Firmin and Andre about Christine. He wouldn't miss her if she was only gone for a few minutes. Charlotte hopped down the rest of the marble stairs and hurried after the girl, trying not to attract too much attention from the various opera house workers.

She eventually found the dancer sitting on the lip of the stage, feet dangling over the edge. Her chin was propped up on her palm as she stared languidly into the distance. All around her was a bustle of activity, but she didn't seem to notice or care. Charlotte wound her way through the seats and approached slowly with a wave. The girl lifted her head and gave a little smile. Charlotte took that as an invitation and wanted to take a seat next to the dancer but... She meant to talk with the girl, but she didn't have Raoul to act as a translator, and Charlotte doubted that the girl would know sign language. How were they meant to have a conversation? Her heart thumped awkwardly in her chest, and Charlotte knew the longer she stood there staring, the stranger the girl would think of her. She recalled Raoul's words to her as she hesitated on the porch of their country manor. Be Brave.

Charlotte took a step forward. Though she longed for friends, she told herself it didn't matter what the girl thought of her. Charlotte was used to people calling her mute or retarded. She tried to brush off the insults but they still stung. If only she could work up the courage to yell back at them the way she did with her brother. She shook her head; it wouldn't be like that this time. She'd go up to the girl and- and ask her about the opera ghost. With words. She could do it.

But even though she took a seat next to the dancer, Charlotte couldn't seem to make her mouth open. She sat there silently, trying to avoid the girl's furrowed brow. Eventually the dancer introduced herself, "I'm Meg Giry. I saw you yesterday with the Vicomte. You're Charlotte, right?"

Charlotte nodded, grateful that she didn't have to start the conversation. Even though she knew Meg wouldn't understand she still signed, 'It's nice to meet you.'

"Oh!" Meg clapped her hands to her mouth before quickly dropping them. "You're deaf! I'm so sorry, I forgot." At her words, many heads swiveled in the direction of the two girls. Charlotte cringed. Meg must have shouted. People always did that, as if Charlotte could hear them if they only talked loudly enough. They didn't seem to realize that Charlotte would never hear anything ever again. Instead of responding to Meg, Charlotte drew the letter from her pocket and unfolded it. She pointed to the signature at the bottom of the note and raised her eyebrows. She couldn't speak to Meg, but maybe she could still make her understand what she wanted to know.

"The Opera Ghost?" Meg asked. Charlotte nodded and gave Meg a pointed look. "Do you want me to tell you about him?" Meg said carefully. Charlotte nodded again and smiled. Meg's light brown eyes lit up. "Alright, then come with me!" She reached out and grabbed Charlotte's hand, twining their fingers together. Shocked, Charlotte almost pulled away. She wasn't used to strangers willingly touching her, most just barely tolerated her presence. Still, as small as Meg was, she had a grip like a vice and Charlotte was effectively tugged along behind her.

She was led behind the stage and through a side door, down a long hallway full of extravagant costumes and what looked to be a full-sized elephant. As she passed, Charlotte reached out her free hand to brush along the hems of the dresses, smiling at the feel of silk and lace and little bells. When Charlotte was very little she had dreamed of staring in her own opera. Being here now was bittersweet.

Meg ducked through another open door that led to a dormitory of sorts with rows of little wooden beds draped with cast-off ballet dresses and heaps of ribbons. A flock of girls sat near the back chatting and giggling. They looked up as Charlotte and Meg entered. Meg waved and pointed at Charlotte, and if anyone had a problem with her presence, Charlotte couldn't hear it.

Meg took a seat on a bed to the left. It was a bit separate from the others, and Charlotte wondered if that was due to her being Madame Giry's daughter, or if little Meg just didn't fit in with the rest of the ballet girls. They had already gone back to their conversation and didn't spare the blonde duo another glance. "They think I'm a gossip." Meg shrugged, following Charlotte's gaze, but her smile was strained. "They won't care to listen. It's just another one of Silly Meg's stories after all."

Charlotte shook her head. She didn't want Meg to think she was like that. If Meg had information about the Opera Ghost, then Charlotte wanted to hear it, even if it was just a story. All stories had a kernel of truth to them, after all. Charlotte knew that better than most, having grown up with mostly books for friends. Even if the Opera Ghost turned out to be complete nonsense, there was still someone sending strange letters to the managers and even Raoul. 'Tell me.'

Meg may have not understood her signing, but she launched into her story regardless. Her words spilled out like water from a faucet and Charlotte focused on pulling vowels from her lips. "The opera ghost is real, I know he is. The other's don't believe me except for Jammes who said she saw him, a man with a head like death! He's the most ugly thing you can ever imagine. He stalks around the opera house kidnapping girls and causing the most terrible misfortunes! Whenever you're alone in the hallways and feel a little chill on the back of your neck, that's him come to watch you." Meg shivered. "Although sometimes when he's pleased with the performances he'll drop roses."

Roses? That didn't seem like the work of a ghost. Charlotte frowned and started nibbling on her thumbnail. Meg's information was all well and good, but it didn't tell Charlotte where she could look for the ghost. The opera house was huge with many stories.

"He took Christine." Meg continued. "The poor girl came back white as a sheet. She kept saying it was the angel of music, but I know better." The angel of music? Charlotte froze and grabbed the letter again. Yes, it said in the first line, 'Do not fear for ms. Daae, the angel of music has her under his wing'. So Meg was correct; the Opera Ghost and the angel of music were one in the same. She looked at Meg, as if silently willing the girl to tell her more. When the girl frowned Charlotte attempted a trick she'd done with Raoul before she'd learned to read lips. Using her finger she traced letters in the air. "WHERE?"

"Oh! Well everyone says he lives under the opera house, but maman is to always keep box five empty during performances." Box five. That, at least, was a place to start. Charlotte gave Meg a grin and folded up her letter.

'Thank you.' She mouthed, signing along. Meg copied her although her motions were clumsy and unpracticed. Next time Charlotte would bring a pad of paper so that she could write out her questions to Meg although she was pleased at the amount of information she had gotten. Charlotte may not be able to sing or to dance, but she could find the Opera Ghost and solve the mystery of the Opera Populaire. Then everybody might finally stop looking at her with only pity.

And somewhere far below Charlotte and Meg sat a twisted creature who plucked out a gentle, longing tune on his violin hoping for the day when the woman he loved could look upon his face and tell him she loved him back.


	4. Box Five

Box five was in the very top row of seats, tucked away in shadows. It didn't afford the best view of the stage, but it was very private. Charlotte poked her head inside, noting its emptiness; if the opera ghost liked to frequent box five he wasn't there now. Courage boosted, she stepped inside and drew the heavy, plush curtain so that she was hidden from any prying eyes. If she leaned over the banister at the head of the box she realized that although the stage was mostly obscured, she was able to see all of the audience. It's a good vantage point, she thought. The Opera Ghost didn't like box five for a grand view of the stage, he wanted to keep an eye on everybody else.

The box had three seats in the front row and two in the back. Charlotte ran her finger over the upholstery, noting the fine etching in the wooden trim. None of the chairs looked like they saw heavy use, in fact the whole box held a certain stillness, as though she had walked into a tomb that had not been disturbed in hundreds of years. Charlotte completed her search but turned up nothing- not even a single discarded hair or scuff of dirt although she had dropped to her knees and even looked underneath the chairs.

Huffing, she straightened and smoothed her dress. Perhaps the Opera Ghost only used his box during performances. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to remember if she had seen any movement in box five during last night's production of Hannibal, but she'd only been looking at the stage. It was useless. She'd have to wait until the next show, Il Muto, which was set to open in a weeks time. Charlotte didn't want to wait that long, but there was nothing else to do.

Discouraged, she flopped down into one of the front chairs and watched the conductor as he flailed his arms around at the orchestra. Many of the musicians wore pinched faces; someone must have hit a wrong note. She swept her gaze up towards the gilded dome of a ceiling and then back to the stage with its twirling dancers, feeling a strange tug of longing deep in her stomach. She never thought that she would regret having given up dancing. Charlotte had always been clumsy and it was difficult to stay on beat without hearing, but she remembered laughing and holding onto her father's big hands as he swung her around and around. After he died it was like her body suddenly forgot what to do. Raoul kept her in lessons for only the next few weeks before she threw a tantrum and quit. She wondered if she watched the ballet girls long enough if she could remember exactly how to place her feet.

With a start, she realized that her brother would probably be missing her by now. If only she could somehow leave a message for the Opera Ghost... Charlotte pulled out the letter and then flipped it around to the blank backside. The ghost was a fan of sending notes so why couldn't Charlotte send back one of her own? She didn't have a pencil but one could be easily acquired. The managers office was only down the hall after all and they were sure to have an ample supply.

Charlotte left box five, making sure to smooth out the crease in the chair from where she had sat. True to belief, she found writing supplies on Firmin's unoccupied desk and sat down to compose her letter, but stopped when she realized she didn't know exactly what to write. What should she say to the ghost? What was she even hoping to achieve for her meddling? In the end Charlotte decided to keep the note short and introduce herself. When she was done it read;

_Dearest Opera Ghost,_   
_If you do not already know, My name is Charlotte de Chagny and my brother, the Vicomte, has recently become a patron of the Opera Populaire. In the few days I have been here, I have heard various accounts of the opera's haunting by the evasive 'Angel of Music'. While I don't expect you to reveal yourself to me, I do hope that you reply to my letter so that we might establish a communication. My brother says there is no such thing as ghosts, and the manager's don't either, but I would very much love to prove them wrong._

_Sincerely, Charlotte de Chagny_

_P.S. Please do not keep Christine from my brother. He means her no harm._

Satisfied, she returned the pencil and folded up her note. She'd leave it in box five for the ghost to hopefully find. She knew there was a slim possibility that he would even write back to her, but it was all she could do for now.

When Charlotte found Raoul again he was sitting with his arms crossed, staring up at the stage. His brow was furrowed, a slight frown tugging at the side of his mouth. She poked him on the shoulder and waved. "Where have you been?" It was an innocent enough question but his eyes narrowed at her as he said it.

_'Exploring.'_  She shrugged.  _'Have you found Christine?'_

Raoul's scowl deepened. "She will see no one." He then looked her up and down as if checking for signs of injury. "I don't want you wandering off, Charlotte, not with all these unexpected disappearances."

_'Raoul,'_ Charlotte sighed. _'I'm not a child and I don't need a nanny. You're my brother, and I love you, but you're not my father.'_ She signed the words quickly, regretting that they were necessary. Raoul wasn't her father, but he had raised her. Still, she was an adult now and although Raoul's overprotective nature could be endearing, most of the time is was just stifling.

"It's still my job to look after you."

_'You can look after me from a distance.'_ Raoul was stubborn but Charlotte was more so. Plus, she was much more patient than her elder brother and usually ended up winning most disagreements.  _'The opera house is perfectly safe. It's not as though I'm galavanting alone through the streets of Paris.'_ That, at least, coaxed a small smile from Raoul. He finally acquiesced and agreed to let her roam unsupervised as long as she stayed within the confines of the opera house.

The rest of the day past slowly. Despite his bad mood, Charlotte managed to drag Raoul away for a quick lunch and then the siblings returned; Raoul to go over budgeting (a thoroughly boring affair) with the managers, and Charlotte to continue her hunt for the ghost. Meg had said that he lived underneath the opera house, but no matter how hard she looked, Charlotte couldn't find any doors that lead to more than the shallow basement. It was stuffed with miscellaneous set pieces and other equipment that was too large to store backstage. There was definitely no room left over for a ghost to live. She walked through the stacks and looked in every nook and cranny but like in box five, nothing suspicious turned up.

When her hands were black with dust and grime, Charlotte decided to give up. As she was leaving the basement she bumped into a red-faced man whose hand was curled around a bottle of gin. He muttered a few unintelligible words and pushed past her, knocking their shoulders together, and disappeared into the same mess that Charlotte had just finished rummaging through. He was not the ghost she was looking for though, for she had touched him and he'd been solid all the way through.

-

A few days later Charlotte's letter disappeared. Whether it was taken by Madame Giry, the box-keeper, or the ghost, Charlotte didn't know.  She had visited box five everyday, watching the preparations for Il Muto from her perch. It was amazing to witness how the stage could be utterly transformed in just a few hours. Men draped in black scuttled around like beetles, carrying off set pieces and bumping into the dancers, while the choreographer barked out improved directions. Ropes dangled from the covered ceiling like waving vines, the whole theater smelled of paint as artists worked on the backdrop, and all were in such a flurry of activity that Charlotte's presence was completely ignored. No one minded her sneaking around. They were either too busy or, like Andre and Firmin, were too occupied with the mystery of the Opera Ghost.

And it was a mystery that seemed to continually grow stronger. Just in the few days that she and Raoul had been patrons, there had been a string of strange occurrences. First, it was Christine Daae's disappearance. Then it was the letters from the ghost. Later that night, the stable master ran into Andre and Firmin's office claiming that someone had stolen a horse from right under his nose- the same white stallion that had been on stage during Christine's aria in Hannibal. Ballet girls had a habit of yelling out in darkened corridors, frightened to death of a face in the shadows.

However, while the managers grew increasingly frustrated with the events, Raoul was walking on air. He had finally coaxed Christine into dinner and the pair was spending every waking moment together. Christine was a sweet girl, but her soft brown eyes were lined with dark purple bags and her complexion was waxy pale. Her gaze darted around as if she, too, was worried about someone lurking in the dark. On her finger sat a heavy gold ring and every so often she would touch it and then jerk as if she'd been burned. Raoul didn't seem to take notice, and Christine explained it away as a simple illness. Charlotte had her doubts but she didn't want to pressure the skittish girl.

With Raoul occupied, Charlotte often found herself alone. Of course, her brother offered to include her, but she didn't want to be a bother. Instead, she found herself following at Meg's heels whenever the girl didn't have practice, and reading when she did. The opera populaire housed it's own considerable library with books on music theory and costume design. Charlotte managed to smuggle arm-fulls back to her hotel room to browse through overnight while Raoul and Christine took midnight walks down the boulevard.

When Charlotte discovered the absence of her note, the strange haze of the past week seemed to pop like a bubble. Either the ghost had received her letter or he hadn't, but it was out of her hands. Whatever she had set in motion was already rolling.

-

_'Watch me,'_  Meg signed. Charlotte had only been teaching her friend sign language for a few days, but Meg was a quick study. She'd picked up enough to fumble her way through a few greetings and some simple commands. She'd even chosen a funny little wiggle of her pinky and thumb to act as her name. 

Charlotte hummed to prove to Meg that she was paying attention to the dancer's pirouettes. Meg moved through the air as if she were swimming, fluid and graceful. She did a series of complicated twirls and leaps, only stumbling at the very end.  _'Good,'_ Charlotte clapped.

Meg frowned. "But it has to be perfect, Charlotte! Otherwise I'll never become prima."

_'Take a break?'_ Meg scrunched up her red face and shook her head. 

_'Sit,'_ Charlotte tried instead, patting the cushion next to her. Meg understood that, but she just shook her head again. 

"Could I ask you for a favor instead?" 

_'Alright,'_ Charlotte shrugged.

"Would you spot me? I'm worried about this turn." Meg demonstrated in slow motion the spin that kept messing her up. Her scuffed ballet shoes caught the reflection of the lamps and cast long shadows across the stage. Mouth suddenly dry, Charlotte nodded. She didn't dance anymore, but surely it would be okay to help her friend?

_'I can help,'_  She stood up, smoothing down her dress. The skirt was just full enough to get obnoxiously in the way as she moved behind Meg, hands waiting to catch her if she fell. It took a few tries, but with Charlotte gently supporting Meg's back, Meg was able to complete a perfect turn. 

Laughing, she turned to Charlotte. "Would you like to try? I'll teach you." Meg's bun had come half undone, and sweaty blonde curls tumbled down her shoulders.

Panicked, Charlotte furiously waved her hands.  _'No! No, thank you. I'm alright.'_ She backed up slightly, putting some space between her and the dancer. 

"Are you certain? I've seen you watching us practice everyday."

_'Yes, it's just that I'd forgotten that I told Raoul I'd meet him for lunch,'_ It was a lie, but it didn't matter much since it was clear Meg could not understand Charlotte's sign anyways.  _'I have to go.'_

Meg's shoulders drooped. "Oh, alright, well perhaps tomorrow."

_'Yes, tomorrow.'_ Sighing, she turned away from her friend, and ducked behind the heavy red curtain. What was the matter with her? Meg was only being kind by offering to teach her to dance, but the thought of it caused Charlotte's stomach to twist up in knots. The opera house suddenly felt very crowded. Her hands begun to shake and Charlotte frantically looked around for her brother, but he was nowhere to be found. 

Twisting her hands in the hem of her dress, Charlotte found a familiar door near the back of the stage and ducked inside. A set of stone steps lead upwards, away from the dancers and the musicians and all the smells. She walked up them slowly, giving her racing heartbeat time to calm. The walls were lit with glittering candles and when Charlotte reached the top, she found herself back in the little church she had visited on her first day at the Opera Populaire. This time, there was a man in a long black coat kneeling on the floor, with his back to her. His head was bowed. 

Not wanting to disturb someone at prayer, Charlotte turned to go back downstairs, but her foot must have caught on the uneven flooring. She saw the man's shoulder's stiffen but he didn't turn around. There was a pause in which the man might have said something, but until he faced her, Charlotte wouldn't be able to tell. "Sorry," She said, keeping her voice at a whisper. "I'll go." 

She had just started to descend when the lights behind her suddenly blinked out. Startled, she looked back at the alter; all of the candles had been blown out. The man was gone. To where, Charlotte had no idea since there was only one exit and she was currently standing in it. Puzzled, she re-entered the room and looked around, wondering if he perhaps just moved to a corner, but no, the church was empty. Well, not exactly empty.

There was a letter lying there on the floor. 

 


End file.
